


The Inmate

by Anonymous



Series: Alternatives [2]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, Prison
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24689170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Seamus Murphy is a problem, Kevin Cozner might be the solution. Too bad he's in prison.Takes place after chapter four of "Alternatives".
Relationships: Kevin Cozner/Ray Holt
Series: Alternatives [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783654
Comments: 14
Kudos: 43
Collections: anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

“Samuel Murphy,” Raymond read, unable to believe what he was seeing. The first spark of rage flared in his chest even before Kristoff nodded. He swallowed it down and met the lieutenant’s eyes.

“If you’re frustrated right now, imagine how we feel, Captain. We’ve been building this case for two years.”

 _Well, you have failed._ The words were on Raymond’s tongue, but he knew better than to voice them. Kristoff was young for his rank, black, ambitious and intelligent, Raymond had no doubt that he had worked hard, and he could respect that the man kept his own anger tightly lidded.

The entire organized crime unit must have had a collective fit when they learned that just this morning, Samuel Murphy, cousin to the infamous Seamus Murphy, had walked into a random precinct in Brooklyn to confess to what boiled down to everything his cousin was accused of. _Yes, it’s me, Samuel Murphy, the most powerful mob boss in all of New York City._

What a load of _bunk._ Raymond stifled the urge to tear up the signed confession on the desk in front of him, instead he pushed the small stack of neatly typed pages over to Kristoff and wiped a hand across his face.

“Seamus Murphy threatened my mother’s life,” he said. Six weeks Laverne Holt had spent in the safe house by now and he could just imagine what she would have to say to this development.

“Can’t prove it in court, sir. Your word against his.” It wasn’t a reprimand. Kristoff knew that Holt knew this as well as he did. The lieutenant shook his head. “We’re back to square one.” Then he drew in a deep breath; he looked about as exhausted as Raymond felt and asked with barely a smidgen of hope, “What about that murder? The guy in prison? Is that going anywhere?”

Doctor Kevin Cozner was certainly not going anywhere. Still, Raymond was not so tired that he would allow himself to make the awful joke. 

“We have been unable to locate the key witness, Dr. Mitchell Weigand. It is as if the very earth has swallowed him up.” Which it might have, Raymond thought, if someone happened to help with a shovel.

Kristoff caught the implication. “You think he’s dead?”

Raymond inclined his head. “Possibly,” he said, “but we have not found a body. As of now, we have nothing but hearsay and speculation - which in a court of law amounts to nothing. Ergo,” he said, over-enunciating the way he did when he was furious, “we have nothing.”

“Well, fuck,” Kristoff said and though Raymond disapproved of the crude language, he couldn’t have agreed with the sentiment more .

***

“Cool, cool, cool, cool, Samuel Murphy, okay…” Peralta looked up from the copy of the signed confession and exclaimed, “Who the hell is Samuel Murphy?”

“Diane Keaton’s--”

“Stop,” Jake interrupted Boyle,”enough with the Diane Keaton thing! Plus, I know who he is, just… what the hell?” He stared beseechingly at Raymond, who, now that he’d had a few hours to come to terms with the situation and calm himself down somewhat, managed to remain professional.

“Samuel Murphy,” Raymond told the briefing room at large, “is Seamus Murphy’s younger cousin. He has been a crucial part of Murphy’s organization for as long as it exists. He is one of his most trusted capos and now he is taking the fall for Seamus, as, we can assume, has been planned as an emergency fail-safe for several years.”

“Which means that we’ve cornered Seamus, right? This is a desperate measure he’s taking to avoid arrest.” Santiago was looking so hopeful, Raymond was almost sorry to shoot her down. Almost. But then, baseless hope was pointless and so was indulging it.

“Desperate measure or not, he is successfully avoiding arrest, Detective, and we are left with nothing. Make no mistake, this is a dark day for us.”

As expected, she slumped in her seat, chastised.

“Then what are our next steps, sir?” Jeffords asked. “There’s gotta be something we can do. Your mother can’t stay in the safe house forever.”

“Thank you for reminding me that I have to speak to my mother, Sergeant,” Raymond said icily. “I’m sure it will be a ‘fun’ conversation for both of us.”

***

He had ended the briefing on that note, then spent the rest of his workday in his office, wracking his brain for a new course of action. Cozner. Professor Kevin Cozner. There had to be something there. 

More than five years had passed since the murder of Alexander Mortimer, which was less than ideal from an investigative standpoint but perhaps a younger Seamus Murphy had been more likely to make mistakes.

Communicating with Cozner, however, had proven difficult. Raymond had only made the trip to Jericho Supermax Prison once, he had only met Cozner briefly. They had not talked much. Days later, he had received a phone call from the professor, this conversation had been quite short as well. Cozner did not know what had become of Weigand. Raymond had been reluctant to discuss the investigation on the phone. He did not know who might be listening in at Jericho. But visiting had been out of the question as by that point, he was sure he was being followed more often than not. Even making the trip to the safe house to see his mother seemed dangerous. A flight out of state lasting several hours, plus the long drive up to the prison, the paper trail this would leave, it would be too obvious. The last thing he wanted was to bring Cozner to Murphy’s attention.

Or so Captain Raymond Holt had thought.

***

He was walking to his car, his footsteps loud in the otherwise deserted parking garage, when a shadow detached from the wall. A man approached him, hands in his pockets. Raymond narrowed his eyes, his own hand automatically reaching for his revolver. 

Tension did not ease when the figure came closer and he recognized the man. Seamus Murphy, a sly grin on his face, stopped a few steps in front of him, cutting off his path to his car.

“Captain,” he said, just as Raymond growled, “Murphy.”

“Fancy meeting you here,” Murphy drawled. “Tough day, huh?”

Raymond could not even dignify that with a response. He glared wordlessly.

“Who’d’ve thought my cuz was such a bad apple, huh?” Murphy rocked back on his heels, still grinning. “Honestly, as the kids say, I’m shook.”

“I am shaken,” Raymond snapped, “the correct form is shaken.”

“You know, kids these days,” Murphy said with a shrug, “no regard for anything. How’s your nephew, by the way? And your sister and your mom? Family all good? Everyone healthy?”

His stomach cramping, Raymond stared into the man’s beady little eyes. The thinly-veiled threat hung between them in the dark garage. He felt its weight on his shoulders. Now Debbie and Marcus, too? Where would this end?

“Be a shame,” Murphy said, malevolent eyes flat and black like a shark’s, “if anything happened to ‘em.”

Raymond was suddenly keenly aware of his revolver under the palm of his hand. How quick and easy it would be to draw the gun, to pull the trigger. And yet, despite the anger burning inside him, it was impossible. He swallowed against the searing rage and let his hand fall to his side.

“You have made a mistake, Seamus,” he heard himself say, his voice too low to echo, even in the vast emptiness between them, “somewhere along the line you have made a mistake. No matter how long ago, no matter how small, I _will_ find it. This is not over.”

Something flickered across Murphy’s expression before it settled back into gleeful loathing.

“You’re right, Captain, this is far from over,” Murphy said. Then he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Raymond alone with the burden of proof.

***

The conversation with his mother went about as well as Raymond had expected, that is to say, it went terribly. She wanted to leave the safe house, she wanted to see her boyfriend, she was sick of her son dictating her behavior, and so on. Over the past weeks, they had had this conversation what felt like a million times. “I am close to eighty years old, Raymond,” she said, “What is the point of this?”

He did not inform her of the threat to Debbie and Marcus Murphy had uttered. 

He did speak to Diaz, who was on safe house duty, however.

“Do you want us to bring them here, sir? I guess there’s room. But I don’t think I should be the one guarding Marcus…”

“No,” Raymond replied. Truth be told, he did not know what to do now. He had a feeling that Murphy was toying with him at this point.

“That bastard Seamus is probably not going to risk making a move now,” Diaz ventured.

“And if you cover yourself in chum and swim with sharks, you probably won’t get eaten, said the half-eaten, chum-covered swimmer,” Raymond shot back. “I will call Debbie and Marcus and I will get them a security detail.” It wasn’t enough, he thought, it was not nearly enough, he was out in the open sea, surrounded by sharks, treading water and no lifeboat in sight.

***

The call came at 1835, three days after Murphy’s renewed threat. 

Raymond was still in his office, rereading Boyle’s report on their findings (or more accurately lack thereof) regarding Dr. Weigand’s disappearance for what had to be the tenth time when his private cell phone rang. The caller ID said Unknown Number. Raymond tensed, but picked up regardless. An automated voice message started to play, “An inmate from Jericho Penitentiary is attempting to call you. Will you accept the charges?”

Surprised (however, he noted, not unpleasantly so), Raymond tapped the screen to accept.

“You have reached Captain Raymond Holt,” he said as soon as he heard the background noise of voices and distant buzzing.

“Good evening Captain Holt, this is Dr. Kevin Cozner. I’m calling to tell you that I will be transferred to Attica Correctional Facility tomorrow. I thought this unexpected development might be of interest to you.”

Raymond felt his eyebrows creep to his hairline. This was surprising. “It is. Thank you for calling,” he said. 

“Thank you for taking my call,” Cozner replied.

Raymond took a second to appreciate the man’s impeccable manners, then he thought back to his encounter with Murphy. Could this be his doing? And if so...“Dr. Cozner, did you request this transfer?”

For all the audible chaos around him, the professor’s voice was calm and firm. “I did put in a request for a transfer to a correctional facility closer to my family years ago, however, it was denied.”

“I see,” Raymond said.

There was a pause, during which Raymond heard someone bark the word _inmate_ in the background.

“Captain,” Cozner said, his voice hesitant, “you sound concerned.”

This caught Raymond by surprise. He had not thought Cozner would be able to tell, few people could have, even face to face.

“I am,” he replied honestly. Had his vague threat to Murphy led the criminal to reexamine his past and to identify the incarcerated classics professor as a potential weak spot? If so, had Murphy orchestrated this transfer in order to eliminate Cozner? 

Raymond weighed his options. With the lives of his family on the line, he was cornered. If Murphy had something to do with Cozner’s transfer, which seemed too sudden to be coincidental, then any further efforts to distract from the professor would be in vain. He made a decision.

“Doctor Cozner, if you don’t have any objections, I would like to pay you another visit, as soon as possible.”

He could hear Cozner exhale, slow and controlled. “I don’t object. I would like to speak to you in person as well, Captain. Perhaps then you can tell me what exactly is going on.”

***

That weekend, Raymond made the five-hour drive to Attica Correctional Facility. 

An air of despair, he thought upon arriving at the towering grey walls, then marvelled for a second at his own gift for poetry. 

The inside of the penitentiary was as depressing as expected, not much different from Jericho, though Attica, of course, was infamous not only for its dark history but also for being one of the most violent prisons in the entire nation, which, considering conditions in US correctional facilities was saying something. 

After passing the mandatory security checks, Raymond was ushered into the visiting area with a group of other visitors - the overwhelming majority of them people of color, he could not help but notice. At least here he would not stand out, he thought bitterly.

Professor Cozner did. Shuffling in single file among the other prisoners, he instantly caught Raymond’s eye. The paleness of his skin, the copper of his beard, his lack of tattoos, most of all the way he carried himself - with a downtrodden sort of dignity that felt ancient to Raymond, as though it had been there long before Cozner and would remain long after he was gone.

Under the watchful eyes of the correctional officers, visitors and inmates slowly approached one another. There were hugs now and kisses, physical contact that would only be allowed for the first and last sixty seconds of their visit. Already somebody was weeping loudly.

Cozner walked up to him and hesitated. This was the first time they met without a plate of plexiglass between them. Standing up, Cozner was slightly taller than Raymond, who found himself quite unsure how to greet this man. In the end, they both, simultaneously, reached out for a handshake, one that was appropriately brief and firm.

“It is good to meet you again, Captain Holt. Thank you for making the drive. I assume it took about five hours?”

Raymond settled into his squeaky chair and put his palms down on the grimy surface of the table. Cozner had sat down opposite him. He was looking at him expectantly, his blue eyes rather piercing.

“Five hours and twenty-two minutes.”

The professor nodded. 

“Now,” he said, only to pause. His gaze flicked past Raymond, focussing briefly on something behind him.

Raymond suppressed the reflex to turn around.

“Is something wrong?” he asked Cozner, who despite the neutral look on his face seemed troubled.

With an unhappy twist to the corner of his mouth, Cozner replied in a voice so low it was close to a whisper, “I think this man is watching us.”

Now, Raymond did risk a glance over his shoulder. Cozner appeared to be looking at a correctional officer standing at the wall, one hand on his baton. He was indeed staring in their direction.

Raymond refrained from pointing out that as a correctional officer employed at this facility, it was the man’s job to watch the inmates, as he sensed that there was more to this than that. Lowering his own volume, he asked, “Is this the first time you have noticed this particular officer?”

“No, I am fairly certain he has been following me around ever since I was transferred here.” Cozner glanced down at the sticky tabletop, his shoulders slumping. “After five years at Jericho I thought I was adjusting to this life…” He interrupted himself with a humorless chuckle. “If it can be called that. This miserable existence. However, this place is different.” Cozner was scratching at a stain on the table, his fingers working nervously, seemingly without the man being aware of what he was doing.

Not sure what to say, Raymond nodded. For once in his life, he felt the sudden urge to reach out, to put a comforting hand on the professor’s arm. He had never been a particularly tactile person, averse to public displays of affection even when deeply in love, but there was something about this particular man in this particular place, that - God help him - made Raymond want to put his arms around Cozner to protect him somehow. 

Just then, that very correctional officer walked slowly past their table, shooting Cozner a meaningful glare. Raymond made mental note of the name on his nametag. Callahan. He would have the squad look into him as soon as he got back to New York City. 

They could not discuss Murphy or the case under these circumstances, that much was obvious. Frustrated with the situation, Raymond struck up a general conversation about how life in the City of New York had changed during the past five years, his point being that Cozner was not missing much. 

***

The professor frowned. “Honestly, are you questioning whether Gerhard Richter deserves a yearlong exhibition at the Met?”

“Oh,” Raymond said, allowing his lips to quirk into a mischievous smile, “I won’t be the judge of that.”

Cozner’s eyes widened a fraction before he burst into laughter, which he quickly stifled with his hand.

Startled by the spark of something he felt in his heart, Raymond cleared his throat and averted his gaze. Beautiful, the professor was beautiful when he laughed, he thought, then pushed the thought away. 

“Time!” one of the correctional officers barked and the inmates obediently began to rise from their chairs. 

Cozner, too, got up, his face once again drained of joy.

“Thank you, Captain,” he said.

“It was my pleasure,” Raymond answered, neither lying nor exaggerating. 

When they shook hands this time, he could not resist clasping Cozner’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. 

***

“Cozner is being watched by what I assume is one of Murphy’s contacts inside the prison,” Raymond explained during morning briefing on Monday. “We were unable to discuss the case. I doubt Murphy will give us any opportunity to do so in the near future.”

“So, phone calls are out because they can listen in, mail is out because they’ll read the letters, visits are out because they have someone watching him… Where does that leave us?” Jake asked. “Oh, maybe he could get a secret cell phone like I did? I mean all I had to do to get it was befriend a cannibal, join a gang, get a CO fired by letting myself get beaten up, take some meth and almost get castrated…” He trailed off, the rest of the squad staring at him in horrified silence. “Yeah, I can see how that might be hard.”

“Do we even need to talk to him?” Boyle asked. “I mean, we already established that he doesn’t really know anything about the case. He didn’t know what Mortimer was doing and he has no idea what happened to Weigand.”

“True,” Raymond said, “and yet Murphy seems to be worried enough to go after him.”

“Which means that his life is in danger and we can’t protect him,” Santiago said. “The more we’ll try to reach Cozner, the more worried Murphy will get.”

Jeffords scratched his chin in thought. “He might try to have him killed. Or he might try to flip him.”

“Only if he thinks he can use Cozner against us.” Santiago shook her head. ”Either way, Cozner is completely exposed. The only reason Murphy hasn’t killed him yet is probably because he doesn’t want to make any big moves right after he just dodged that huge bullet and lost one of his most trusted men.”

Raymond tapped his fingers against his lectern. They needed a plan. Cornering Murphy was one thing, but risking his lashing out at Cozner? Then again, wasn’t the alternative that Murphy would come after his family?

“If I were to continue visiting the professor and if there was a way for us to meet without Murphy listening in, it might push him to do something rash.” This would boil down to using Cozner as bait. Blood in the water to lure in a shark. “However, I refuse to risk Cozner’s life,” Raymond said.

“We should ask him,” Peralta argued, earning himself a glare. “Look, if there’s one thing I know about life in prison it’s that you’re completely powerless. You feel like you’re nothing, you lie in your bunk at night, alone, knowing only that you have no idea what the next day will do to you. I barely survived those six months; he’s been doing it for five years. We really should ask him.”

“The point is moot,” Raymond countered, “As we have no way to communicate with Cozner without Murphy spying on us. If Murphy learns how little we have, we will never get him.”

“Actually,” Santiago piped up, hesitation in her voice, “there might be a way for you to meet Cozner in private. But you’re probably not going to like it, sir.”

“Please elaborate,” Raymond said, narrowing his eyes.

Santiago took a deep breath. “So, when Jake and Rosa were in prison, I looked into some things,” she began. ”Attica Correctional Facility is a New York state prison, right?” 

“Correct,” Raymond replied, frowning. 

“Well, unlike South Carolina, the state of New York actually allows,” she paused before finishing in a small voice, “conjugal visits.”


	2. Chapter 2

Raymond blinked, not sure he had heard right.

“Wait, Ames, you did research on this while I was in prison? Were you going to--”

Holding up a hand, Raymond cut off Peralta’s babbling, gaze fixed on Santiago’s apologetic face.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” he asked.

“Conjugal visits,” she all but squeaked.

“But those are for married couples,” Boyle said. He frowned. “Oh.” He frowned harder. “Oh?”

“Hold up.” For the first time since the meeting had started, Gina actually looked up from her phone. “Am I hearing right? Are we planning a wedding? Cause if we are, I’m gonna need a new smoke machine. Gotta make this the event of the year.”

“I mean, Jake and I are also getting--”

“The. Event. Of. The. Year.” Gina repeated, talking over Santiago.

Raymond could feel the briefing slip away from him. “Let me get this straight--” he began, raising his voice to drown out the squad’s juvenile banter.

“ _Not_ the title of _your_ sextape!” Hitchcock shouted, grinning as though he had won a cake eating contest and learned that the prize was more cake.

Peralta grimaced. “What?”

“Because he’s gay, duh,” drawled Hitchcock, visibly satisfied with himself, though for what reason was anyone’s guess. Raymond dragged a hand across his face.

“Hitchcock!” Jeffords snapped.

“You guys have no sense of humor.” Pouting, Hitchcock sank back in his chair and folded his arms. Scully put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Everyone quiet!” Raymond stalked away from the lectern and planted himself in front of Santiago and Peralta. “Are you suggesting I _marry_ this man - a man I have met twice - in order to visit him in prison?”

“Twelve hours in private; it might be enough to get everything we need without Murphy finding out what Cozner knows.” 

Raymond continued to glare at Santiago, waiting for her to see the obvious flaws in her disturbing plan. To her credit, she did not falter.

“Look, sir, I want you to become commissioner more than anyone. I think you deserve it so much and that you would be great, that you would effect real change, but we have to face the fact that our priorities are different now. Your mother has been unhappy in the safe house from day one; she can’t stay there forever and now that Murphy’s threatening your nephew and sister too, we’re running out of time and options.”

“You know Amy’s right, Captain,” Peralta added unnecessarily.

Of course, Raymond knew how dire the situation was. He had not even had time to think about the race for commissioner ever since his mother had entered the safe house. Now all that occupied his mind was Seamus Murphy, his malevolent grin haunting Raymond’s every waking moment. 

Marrying a convicted felon would most definitely destroy any chance of getting the job. 

“You’ll still be captain of the Nine-Nine, sir,” Santiago said. 

Raymond shook his head. “Even if I disregard the no doubt abysmal impact this will have on my career, there is still Cozner’s situation, which will also be made much worse. There is simply no way we could hide this from Murphy.”

“Cozner’s life is already in danger,” Jeffords pointed out, “and he’s being watched. All of that on top of being in Attica… Hard to see how things could get much worse for him.”

“Well, Sergeant,” Raymond countered, pausing dramatically, “ _being ‘shanked’_ might be one way.”

“Which kind of brings us back to my thing: ask him. It’s not like you can just marry him anyway.”

“Uh, I only listened to like ten seconds of this mess because some loser just tweeted straight up lies about Rihanna, but aren’t we having this whole dumb meeting because we can’t talk to that guy in prison?”

“Gina, this is the morning briefing, which we have every morning, which you would know if you showed up for it more than half the time,” snapped Jeffords.

“Don’t hate me just because I actually have a life.”

Santiago cleared her throat. “Dr. Kevin Cozner has a brother, Dr. Martin Cozner. He lives here in the city. We could use him as a go-between. There’s a good chance they won’t watch him as closely. He might get a few moments to fill in his brother .”

“He’s a civilian,” Raymond said, “we should not involve him too much in this.” Actually, they should not involve him at all.

“I know, but he was the only one who tried to fight his brother’s sentence. I’m sure he’ll want to help.”

Peralta nodded eagerly. “I’ll go talk to him, get him on board.”

“He has a dental practice in Manhattan. All we need to do is make an appointment.”

Peralta nodded less eagerly. “Amy will go talk to him.”

Briefly, Raymond closed his eyes, unwilling to believe that they would end the briefing on this note, that this ridiculous idea was as close to a plan as they could get.

“Fine, Santiago, talk to the brother. Boyle and Peralta, check with Columbia University again, see if they have _anything_ Weigand might have left in his office before he disappeared.” He ignored the unhappy glance the detectives exchanged and moved on. “Jeffords, call Kristoff and find out what they are doing in terms of trial preparation for the lesser Murphy. Perhaps some of the charges are actually going to stick to Seamus. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on my family. Dismissed.”

***

Unfortunately, checking on his family entailed calling his sister Debbie, who as usual, instantly started yelling at him over the phone. 

“Ray, how long is this going to go on? You cannot expect me to put my entire life on hold! And if you’re going to have me stalked by your cop friends, at least pick some attractive ones, preferably black, around fifty or, you know, younger.”

He rolled his eyes and held the receiver a little further away from his ear. “Debbie, I am not running a ‘dating’ service.”

“Of course not, you’d be terrible at it!” She made a noise that was half sigh and half groan, then continued to badger him. “Some of us actually want to find love, Ray! You should try it sometime, it’d be good for you.”

He rolled his eyes _again_ as she went on in a mournful tone, “Whatever happened to Joshy?”

“Joshua left me for a tennis instructor, as you might remember.” Granted, Raymond had been in Florida for six months and subsequently been transferred to the night shift, so their relationship had been close to non-existent at that point, but the betrayal had still stung.

He could hear Debbie wince. “Oh, right, I forgot, sorry, but I for one am not going to just give up and get a cat!”

“I don’t have a cat anymore either. Joshua took her with him when he moved out.” It had been Joshua’s cat to begin with, therefore it was only proper. Raymond did not miss Amber, the distant, moody creature that had treated him like a piece of vaguely unpleasant furniture for most of their time together. The thought of her now sharpening her claws on the tennis instructor’s belongings gave him a vague sense of satisfaction.

“My point is, Debbie, you cannot ‘date’ under these circumstances. You cannot meet strange men, who might have been hired to kill you.”

“Well, I ain’t meetin’ nobody!” she screeched into his ear, the double negative making his jaw clench. “Do you want me to die alone? Because that’s where I’m headed. My new psychic said so too. Also to beware of redheads, but that’s a whole other story.”

“Yes,” he snapped, ignoring the majority of her rant, “of course I want you to die alone! As opposed to dying with your killer!” 

The conversation went downhill from there.

***

That night, Raymond lay in bed alone - as he had done every night for the six months - wondering what Cozner would say to their absurd proposal. 

But then, what was _he_ saying to the proposal?

Raymond Holt had never been married. With Joshua, the topic had never been broached. Until the end of the relationship, they had had separate bank accounts - as Joshua had been wary after Raymond had had a single gambling incident one regrettable night three years into their relationship. Joshua had never trusted him again, yet they had held onto each other, both of them too stubborn to admit defeat. In the end, when Joshua had left him for that ridiculous tennis instructor, Raymond had almost been relieved. After all, this way, the blame was obviously all Joshua’s.

And yet now he was considering getting married to a man he did not even know?

Truth be told, had Raymond met Dr. Kevin Cozner anywhere else, he would have asked him out on a date and had said date gone as well as their conversation in that depressing visiting room at the correctional facility, Raymond would have invited Cozner to a second date then and there. 

He had to admit he rather enjoyed the man’s company.

However, if Cozner had any sense of self preservation at all, he would decline this insane proposal.

***

“So, we’ve got great news,” Peralta announced at the briefing five days later, a wide, rather disconcerting grin on his face, “Amy’s teeth are bad!”

“Jake!” Santiago exclaimed.

This was a waste of time.

“Yes, we all knew that,” Raymond said, waving off Amy’s faint “What?”

Gina nodded without looking up from her phone. “Yeah, you overbrush like crazy,”

“Oh my God, why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I thought it was a choice.”

“How could it be a choice?”

“I don’t know. How is that ponytail a choice?”

“Anyway,” Peralta interrupted the pointless bickering, “thanks to my girl’s many cavities, she was able to spend a lot of time with the non-imprisoned Dr. Cozner. We got him on board, Captain. He’s going to Attica this weekend to pop the question. Are you excited?”

“Yes, Detective, I am very excited about the prospect of marrying a convicted felon in order to keep my family from being assassinated.”

“I know you’re trying to be sarcastic, but I’ll take it.”

“I was being sincere. I am excited, meaning that I am in a heightened state of energy,” Raymond replied, but, for all of their sakes, he decided to change the topic. “Have you had any luck at Columbia?”

There was an awkward pause that all but answered his question. Finally, Boyle spoke up. “I’m sorry, sir, but the dean is not exactly helpful.”

Peralta nodded. “I think he was mocking us for being uneducated, but I only understood like fifty percent of the words he was using. I mean if you’re going to make fun of someone because you think they’re stupid, dumb it down a little, moron.”

“Yeah, what an idiot,” agreed Boyle.

Raymond suppressed a sigh and looked at Jeffords, who shrugged his shoulders apologetically. “According to Kristoff, all the incriminating paperwork they have is signed S. Murphy. Samuel is taking the fall for all of it. I’m sorry, Captain.”

“So we have nothing,” Raymond said. He had spent the morning looking into Callahan, the suspicious prison guard, and had found a spotless record, no obvious connections to organized crime. For a few moments he had contemplated calling the warden about his concerns but ultimately had refrained. Raymond already knew all too well how these things worked. 

The warden and, come to think of it, the dean of Columbia University both wanted nothing more than to preserve the status quo. They did not care about remedying any injustices and they would fight anyone trying to call attention to them.

“We have a plan!” As usual Peralta was too loud and too cheerful. Had he not grasped the gravity of the situation? “And we have a husband for you! Come on, Captain, you always said you wanted to get married! Remember that awful speech you gave at Gina’s mom’s and Charles’ dad’s wedding?”

“The haiku?” Raymond frowned, offended. “Marriage is a con-tract between two adults of different families. I consider it one of my better works. It works on multiple levels.” Which had gone right over the heads of the crowd - Joshua might have understood, had he been able to attend. He shook his head. “We need to wait for Cozner’s response.”

Which would be no, Raymond was certain.

***

Raymond had an abysmal weekend. His mother, more restless than ever, demanded she be allowed to return to her apartment at once, then, when her request had been denied, she sulked, refusing to speak with him. Finally, Raymond relieved Diaz from safe house duty and brought in Jeffords instead. 

“If she tries anything, you can always wrestle her to the ground and drag her back into the house,” he told Jeffords, who stared at him, a strange expression on his face and said, “Sir, I’m not going to physically restrain your seventy-nine year-old mother.”

“Of course not,” Raymond replied, winking to show that he was in on the ruse. Smart man, Jeffords, taking into account that his mother might be listening in.

***

Morning briefing, the following Tuesday. Santiago was late since she had a dentist appointment with Dr. Cozner’s brother.

Raymond was in the middle of giving an update on a string of burglaries - sadly, there was still other criminal activity they had to investigate - when Peralta interrupted him. 

“Amy just texted me! Cozner said yes!”

“What?” Raymond asked, feeling faint.

“You’re getting married!”

“Okay, okay,!” Gina put her phone away, got up from her chair and sauntered to the lectern where she clapped her hands. “Enough with this boring crime garbage now! We have a prison wedding to plan!”


	3. Chapter 3

“What?” Raymond repeated, reeling. Gina bumped her hip into his and said, “Scooch, Captain.”

As he stepped aside - Gina made room for herself easily - the reality of the absurd plan hit him. He could barely fathom that Cozner had actually agreed to this. Surely there had been a misunderstanding of some kind.

“Okay, I’m going to take suggestions, but if anyone brings up theme weddings or Disney, this is over. Looking at you, Charles.”

“But a Beauty and the Beast wedding--”

Gina slammed her palm down on the lectern, making the detectives jump. “Boyle, what did I just say?”

“No themes,” Boyle mumbled.

“I thought the theme was prison?” interjected a confused Scully.

“I thought it was gayness,” Hitchcock said, equally lost.

Diaz rolled her eyes.

With a groan, Gina slumped over the lectern. “You’re uninvited. Take this seriously! I mean, look how old Captain Holt is! No offense, sir, but it’s a miracle someone is actually going to marry you at this point.”

“This isn’t real, Gina. Cozner’s just doing it to prove his innocence and get out of prison. We don’t need to make a big deal out of it,” Rosa said.

“Actually,” Peralta argued, “we have to make this look as real as possible..”

Finally, Raymond found his voice again. He drew in a deep breath and shook his head in exasperation. “Enough. No one will believe this travesty. This entire endeavour could not be more transparent.” He wanted to say more - that Cozner might end up getting killed, for example - when Santiago barged into the briefing room.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, brushing a few errant strands of hair out of her face, “I came as soon as I could. Did you get my message?”

“Yes, Amy, we’re planning the wedding right now, get with the program! So, where are we on the Orlando Bloom to Kanye West scale, budget-wise, sir?” 

Before Raymond could answer Gina’s question - not that he would have known how anyway- Santiago spoke again.

“Wait, Gina, you know there’s not going to be a party, right? They don’t allow guests; the couple only get to have one witness there. It has to be someone from Cozner’s approved visitor list, so it’s going to be his brother. I already discussed it with Dr. Martin Cozner.”

“What?” Gina threw up her hands. “You’re telling me this now? After I’ve wasted precious minutes of my life on this? Ugh, why did I even bother to come here?”

“Because this is the morning briefing and it’s your job?” Amy ventured, frowning.

“I’m out,” Gina announced, ignoring Amy. She gave the lectern one last slap, then turned on her heel and walked out the door. 

“Okay,” Peralta said, “so, just to be clear, none of us can actually come to the wedding? Even if the captain, say, maybe wanted one of us to be his best man? Hypothetically?”

“Sorry, Babe.” Amy patted his shoulder.

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s not like I was hoping…” Jake cleared his throat. “I mean if I had been asked…”

Boyle jumped out of his chair. “Captain, you need to make Jake your best man, or so God help me--”

“Boyle! Peralta! Enough!” Having reached the limits of his patience, Raymond paced over to Amy and Jake. “Santiago, is Cozner even aware of the amount of danger he will be in? You must not have made it clear to him.”

“Sir, I have. He knows. He just feels like he has nothing to lose at this point.”

For a second, they all simmered in the sadness of the statement, then Santiago added with forced brightness, “But if he is engaged to a police captain, they will have to transfer him out of gen pop, which might make it more difficult for Murphy to get to him. Also,” she continued, grimacing, “gen pop hasn’t been great for him in general.”

“He needs to start a riot,” Diaz said, “worked for me.”

“Riot, huh. Yeah, I could have done that,” Jake mused. “Just out of curiosity, how exactly did you do that?”

“Found the biggest, baddest bitch during lunch, waited till she got her dessert, then slapped it out of her hand. Piece of cake.” Rosa smirked.

“Yep, definitely could have done that,” Peralta mumbled before quickly changing the topic. “Moving on. Sir, you need to drive up to Attica again and start Operation C.O.B.R.A..” 

Raymond briefly closed his eyes. He let the moment pass, refusing to ask. As the seconds ticked by, the glow of eager expectation on Peralta’s face dimmed gradually.

“It’s an acronym,” Peralta offered with one last smidgen of hope.

“This is not a game,” Raymond countered.

“Court our brilliant reluctant asset, took all night to come up with it, no big deal,” Jake whispered in Santiago’s ear. She patted his arm but shook her head.

“We know that it’s not, sir,” she told Raymond firmly. “But we need to either do this or come up with a better plan.”

There was no better plan and they were going around in circles. 

“Fine,” he said. “I will drive up to Attica and do what exactly?”

“Flirt,” Santiago replied, blushing. “Also write him emails, schedule phone calls, make it look like you’re falling in love with him. Setting up the actual wedding is going to take some time and a lot of paperwork. Cozner is going to have to pass a health check and a psychological evaluation. They’ll do a background check on you which shouldn’t be a problem, but you definitely need to get a lawyer to draw up a prenup for you.”

“Wow, you really did your homework on that, Ames. So...were you going to propose to me?” Peralta gasped like a schoolgirl who had found a love letter in her locker. “Was the proposal going to be Die Hard themed?”

***

Few places in the world were as depressing as the parking lot in front of Attica Correctional Facility, Raymond wagered. He was sitting in his car, in the shadow of the looming cement walls, taking one last gulp of water from the bottle he had purchased at the last gas station between Attica village and the prison. Thankfully, the previously refrigerated beverage had warmed up enough in the car to match the temperature of his saliva, just the way he liked it. 

As he swallowed, he remembered the way the clerk at the gas station had looked at him. Her suspicious gaze following each of his movements. She had never taken more than two steps away from the register while he had browsed the shelves. 

He suppressed a sigh and put the bottle into the glove compartment, then he exited his vehicle and made his way to the prison, empty-handed.

***

_ “You can’t bring him any gifts, obviously. But you can send him money and packages. If you want to send him stuff, however, it has to be either checked and approved by prison security or come sealed from the vendor. So you could order books for him from Amazon, for example. He’s going to be allowed to wear a plain wedding ring - but it can’t be worth more than 100$. We should wait a little with the proposal, though, until we’ve finalized our list.” _

***

Raymond had not needed Santiago’s lecture on the sad realities of life in prison. He had known these facts already, yet he still did not quite know how to proceed.

It was difficult to imagine that Cozner truly understood what they were asking of him. 

Contemplating this, Raymond went through the now familiar motions of the various security checks. This time, he felt as though he stuck out like a sore thumb among the friends, lovers and family members of Cozner’s fellow inmates, who all emanated restless impatience. He was the only one reluctant to move forward. 

He was ushered into the visiting room behind a young Asian woman who was so short and slim she looked like a preteen herself despite the pudgy baby she was carrying in her arms. The child was staring up a Raymond over her shoulder, its dark eyes wide as it shoved a fist into its mouth, releasing a silvery thread of drool that dribbled down onto its mother.

Raymond forced a smile since smiling at babies was expected of adults. The baby merely continued to gaze at him, its saliva forming a dark stain on its mother’s yellow top.

Attica’s visiting area was somehow even more depressing than it had been on his previous visit. Paint was flaking off the walls and the air was filled with the smell of stale sweat. Even the visitors moved in a dejected shuffle now as they chose their tables.

Raymond picked one close to the center of the room, as far from the correctional officers leaning against the walls as possible. The table was round, metal, bolted to the floor. He sat in the uncomfortable chair and glanced around the room once more. Two tables over, a little boy was refusing to sit down. He was running around, a blue LED light in one of his sneaker soles lighting up whenever his right foot hit the ground. The left one remained dark, seemingly broken.

“I swear if you don’t sit your ass down right this minute, I’mma go and leave you here with your dumbass father!” his mother shouted finally, causing the boy to stop in his tracks, his face crumpling. “Don’t you start wailing now or I’m gonna give you reason to.” With that, the woman plucked the boy up like a weed and planted him in a chair. Any sound he might have made was drowned out by the deafening buzz of the gate. 

As he watched the line of prisoners walk into the room, Raymond found himself wondering how many of the children brought to visit their fathers would end up here themselves one day. The thought was depressing. Raymond certainly knew the statistics and could do the math. But these, he reminded himself, were people who had made bad choices. Perhaps the cards were stacked against them, he thought, looking at the predominantly brown and black faces, but then the cards had also been stacked against him, Raymond Holt, who had been raised by a single black mother.

Laverne Holt had cared for her two children, worked a full-time job and put herself through law school. If she could do it--

Well, he knew it wasn’t as simple as that.

He also knew that if he had been sitting here in his uniform, he would have been identified as ‘the enemy’ immediately. Never even mind that he had come to help one of the few white, wealthy, well-educated inmates.

Except, no. He was not here to help Dr. Cozner. He was here to put away Seamus Murphy. Helping Cozner would only be a side-effect.

The inmates were filing out. In their orange scrubs they resembled a line of fire ants dispersing to scout unknown territory. Like the other visitors around him, Raymond rose from his seat to greet the man heading his way.

“Dios mio!” an elderly woman exclaimed suddenly as she lurched away from her table and launched herself at an inmate whose right eye was covered in gauze.

“Ma’am, please calm down.” A correctional officer swiftly inserted himself between her and the man. She batted at his chest, tears in her eyes.

“Ma, I’m okay, it’s just a scratch,” the man said - he was, Raymond guessed, at least in his late forties himself.

Raymond averted his gaze from the scene and met the eyes of the man who had stepped up to his table while he had been distracted.

Somehow, Cozner was even more pale than before, his skin as white as a corpse’s. His eyes seemed to have sunk deeper into his skull and the circles under them were dark like bruises. Still, looking at him, Cozner brightened, flickers of hope and gratitude gracing his otherwise empty expression.

“Captain,” he said softly and Raymond cringed a little at the use of his rank - it would not be beneficial for Cozner if his fellow inmates overheard - “you came.”

“Of course,” Raymond replied, reaching out for their handshake. “I thought you knew I would.” 

“I wasn’t sure. Things seem… complicated.”

An understatement if ever there was one.

“They are indeed.” Raymond gently squeezed Cozner’s hand. It felt so fragile in his grasp, he found himself reluctant to let go. Soon, however, the correctional officers announced the end of their allowed time for physical contact.

As they took their seats opposite one another, Raymond noticed the stiffness of Cozner’s movements.

“Are you injured?” he asked. He glanced over at the table with the one-eyed man and his mother, then back at Cozner, whose face remained expressionless.

“I’m… alright.”

Having noticed the small pause, Raymond raised his eyebrows.

“There was a minor kerfluffle,” Cozner said. “A few people were involved and the correctional officers had to intervene.”

“Not a full riot then?”

“No, but the men here are…” Cozner pressed his lips together.

Terrifying, Raymond thought. Attica was known for taking prisoners that had been transferred from other maximum security facilities because of disciplinary problems. It was a place for the worst of the worst. Even if Cozner had been guilty of his crime, he should not have been transferred here as his behavior had been exemplary at Jericho.

Raymond took a few seconds to really study the other man. He seemed to have lost weight, his face was positively gaunt, and the lines around his eyes had deepened. Not a lot of time had passed since they had last met, and yet Cozner seemed to have aged years. An air of depression and exhaustion hung over him like a dark veil.

He won’t live through the year like this, Raymond caught himself thinking. His concerns regarding Murphy had been foolish, he realized, to Cozner a violent death would only be a quicker end to his suffering. 

“My brother…” Cozner began, uncertain. “He told me you wanted to visit again. I was surprised. He said…”

Cozner was holding his gaze, trying to communicate with his eyes what he couldn’t say for fear of being overheard.

Raymond had no idea how the conversation between the Cozner brothers had gone. He only had Santiago’s word that Dr. Martin Cozner had assured her his brother had been informed of their plan. Though whether the word ‘marriage’ had actually been spoken…

“If you have no objections,” Raymond said as a correctional officer passed by their table - this one was an older gentleman, a Scully-type, not Callahan, whom Raymond had not seen all day - “I would like to visit you regularly. I have developed a romantic interest in you and would like to court you.”

A hint of surprise.

“I am very happy to hear this, as I have developed a romantic interest in you as well,” Cozner replied.

Relief washed over Raymond. There. They had laid the foundation and it had gone even more smoothly and naturally than he had hoped.

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken some liberties here. Maximum security prisons do not allow conjugal visits, even if they're in states that do allow them, but, you know, it's just fanfic, so.


End file.
